


The Pulls

by MamaKat (K4KY01N)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: A sad lesbian, AU, F/F, Humanstuck, Modern AU, My first attempt at writing in a long time, Pining, Trans Female Character, but it's super casual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-23 20:50:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K4KY01N/pseuds/MamaKat
Summary: Rose Lalonde has come to Kanaya Maryam's doorstep far too many times, wet, in tears, and always with one common theme: Men are awful, and she hates having to date them. Of course, she doesn't have to, but she doesn't realize that yet. Kanaya, horribly in love with Rose, is too scared to do anything but watch as Rose continues on this self destructive spiral.Until one night, Rose decides that maybe love isn't for her.They then make a mistake.





	1. 1

Your name is Rose Lalonde, and today is the latest of your many fuckups. You told yourself this time would be better, that this time the guy would be nice, and treat you like a proper gentleman would. He would court you gently, spend the evening dining with you and exchanging riveting dialogue about Kierkegaard, or some other pretentious philosopher that Rose deep down knew was pretentious, but stuffed down for the sake of love, and then would take you home and leave you with a soft kiss on the lips, and leaving you wanting more.

Of course, that idea went out of the window 5 minutes into the date. As soon as you brought up some of the things you saw on his profile, it became crystal clear that he was not only a liar, but a horrible one. It went like this.

You brought up him putting ‘philosopher’ on his profile. It turns out he meant ‘recite the same drivel that every dipshit who took philosophy in high school does.’ 

But you decide, hey, he seems nice enough, if a little chatty, so you talk about dinner. This causes him to go on a tirade about how he hates ‘instagram culture,’ something totally unrelated to the topic at hand. Around this time you made the mental note to block his profile and then never speak to him again as soon as you got back to your apartment. But that was only a small droop in the horrifyingly steep decline in Date Quality that was to come.

It was torture after that point. You tried to tune out his ramblings by listening to the ambient music of the restaurant, which now that you examine closer, is not nearly as good as he said it would be. The wallpaper is old and faded, the chairs creaked as you sat down on them, threatening to break under you, and the plates had superficial cracks lining down the surface. It’s so mediocre, in fact, that you’re having a hard time believing your rambling date when he says, for the 45th time, that this is a ‘5 star restaurant,’ and that you should ‘totally sleep with him for spending so much money on the first date.’

Wait, what?

It was in that moment in the date that you slammed your hands on the table, stood up, and your chair fell back onto the floor, calling the attention of the few diners that were still here so late into the night. Maybe you overreacted, but you were livid at the prospect that you’d do any such thing. You remember saying something like “I am not a prostitute, you misogynistic incel,” or something similar.

Of course, you anticipated some kind of blowback, but not to this degree. He stood up with as much fervor as you, and said that you “should be grateful that anyone would want to date someone like you.” Now, you knew exactly what he meant by this as you, Rose Lalonde, have heard this exact line a million times before today. But always, always, you ask for clarification, just in case you assumed wrong.

What comes next was always a slur of some kind. For the sake of the readers, you decide to omit that from your mental recollection of the events. But it is safe to say that it is an awful selection of words and the reader would do right by themselves if they didn’t think about it much more.

As many women would after such an insult, you grab whatever body part of his is closest to you, and shove him away with as much power as you can muster. After that, you grab whatever accessory or clothing item that had been removed from your person over the course of the date, and storm out the door.

And, of course, he was your ride. So you’re walking. Which brings you to right now, slogging in the rain, with your black jacket stretched over the white blouse, hoping desperately it wouldn’t become transparent in the beating rain, exposing yourself to anyone that walked by. Of course, nobody was around, nobody is dumb enough to be walking around in such a storm except you.

With the rain how it is, you never would have made it home without getting drenched. But it’s a good thing you aren’t going there anyway. You’re headed to the apartment of your most dearest comrade, Kanaya Maryam. Where you’d be without her, you have no idea. But for now, you’re going to go inside, borrow an umbrella, and not start crying as soon as she opens the door.

That last part was a lie, as this has happened routinely now. As earlier stated, this is only the latest in your line of many dating mishaps. You’ve been in the dating scene for about six months now, and in that time you’ve ended up at Kanaya’s doorstep many times, in tears, and every time she beckons you inside with a gentle smile and a blanket waiting. Sometimes the blanket was even warmed for you. 

Kanaya lives in the center of town in a swanky penthouse apartment, while you live on the outskirts in a homey Studio. You talk as much as you can, but you rarely get an opportunity to chat in person, considering you’re busy with writing and Psych 101, and her with her illustrious career as a fashion designer for a very popular line, Couture by Guccie Pradah. That was a joke, you have no idea where she works. So you make up a dumber name every time you think about it. 

But here you are, at the front door of her very expensive looking apartment. You used to have trouble every time you came in here, saying you were here to see ‘Miss Maryam.’ But it’s been so many times, they say nothing as you enter, knowing you’ve had a hard enough night. You solemnly walk towards the penthouse elevator, and press the upward facing button. Maybe you’ve been conditioned to associate that button with sadness, because every time you press it, you feel tears welling in your eyes; or maybe it’s the thought that she’s been through this so many times, it feels hopeless. Why even try to find love, it’s not like you deserve it. You’re lucky that you make enough money freelancing for an apartment in the city, love is pushing it.

By the time your thoughts disperse, you’re at the front door of Kanaya Maryam’s apartment. You hold yourself still for a moment, and you hear the TV playing softly through the door. You feel a little creepy for doing that, but you had to make sure she was awake. You made it a promise never to wake Kanaya up with your relationship troubles.

You look at the nameplate screwed in over the peephole. Kanaya Maryam. Not ‘Dr. Kanaya Maryam, PHD in Fixing your Stupid Relationship Problems.’

But you still knock. You hold your fist up to the door and rap against it a few times. You feel weak right now, but you can still muster a few good knocks. Good enough to hear, at least.

You hear the TV pause. Then silence for a few moments. Then there’s the sound of rumbling locks and tumbling door knobs.

You look up at her, and you don’t realize you’ve been crying until she wraps her arms around you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be fun, huh?


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Magic Happens.

The feeling of hot water beating against your body is a familiar one. Not only do you shower regularly, but Kanaya makes it a rule that whenever you come in, soaked and smelling like sadness, you have to take one of her patented ‘therapy showers.’ It’s like a regular shower, except the shower head is turned onto the most back-scraping mode possible, there’s candles everywhere, and you pick a CD from Kanaya’s rack of many,  _ many _ old ones. 

 

The first time you ended up here was an interesting time, as you realized just how diverse Kanaya’s music taste was. The first few times you played something soothing, something to help you think, and more importantly to make sure Kanaya didn’t find you strange for your rather eclectic first choice of tunes. But, later on, you began to pick more eccentric ones. You even picked one of Sir-Mix-A-Lot’s albums, but ended up playing only ‘Baby Got Back’ for an hour. That was one of the worst breakups you had for a while.

 

But now?

 

Now you aren’t playing anything. You had picked out a CD, lit the candles, and tried to lose yourself in the moment, but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t soothing, like all the other times you had done it. Right now, you can’t get your mind off of the feeling in your stomach, pulling you down and making you sink like a stone. That’s why you shut off the player, blew out the candles, and slowly cranked down the temperature until the water beating against your back was ice cold. You slumped down in the shower, back against the wall, and stared out the glass door at the locked bathroom door. 

 

You’re so, so tired. You want to just sit down on the couch and turn off your brain for a few hours, days, weeks. Just long enough until the thought beating in the back of your mind fades back to the normal static it used to be. But it’s not going to be like that. It’s only gotten stronger, and only now is it too strong to ignore. It’s only going to get stronger, more overbearing from here.

 

You shut off the shower.

 

You need to talk to Kanaya.

  
  


\----------------------------------------------

  
  


Kanaya really is the sweetest thing. Since you came here so often, she went ahead and got you a change of clothes, perfectly your size. After you slipped into that, you made a beeline for the couch, where Kanaya sat, patiently waiting for you to finish showering.

 

Kanaya was quiet for a moment as you sat down, and gave you a look, a faint smile that only served to make you feel more guilty for wasting her time like this. You didn’t want to say anything, at least not first. She was so kind, so patient, and here you were, taking advantage of all of that; of all her generosity. If you were her, you would have kicked yourself out ages ago. 

 

Kanaya must have noticed the look of discomfort on your face, because she was the first to speak. 

 

“Rose,” she started, taking a brief pause to assemble her sentence in a way that didn’t seem accusatory, “You stopped the music, and you were in there for nearly an hour.” Her finger trailed over her glass, full to the brim with red wine. Her fingerprints painted the outside of the glass with smudges, but no lipstick stains to speak of. “Scale of one to ten for me, dear?”

 

Even on the worst dates you’ve had so far, none of them ever progressed past an 8. They could be awful, but you could always deal with it. But, for some reason, tonight felt like the breaking point. The single straw that shattered your back into a thousand vertebrae. “..10,” was all you managed to say, choked up. 

 

Kanaya’s eyes went wide, and she set down her glass, only to re-fill her hands with your own. “Rose, darling, what  _ happened? _ Is this worse than the ‘Applebee’s Incident?’” The ‘Applebee’s Incident’ was a tragic tale involving yourself, a date, six margaritas, and accidentally setting fire to the table, before purposefully setting fire to another. You did none of those things, and yet you were never allowed in another Applebee’s again.

 

“No, no, It’s not as bad as that. It’s just,” You wince, forcing yourself to keep a grip on Kanaya’s hands, looking down at her beautiful black nails, “All on the way home, I just kept getting worse. I’ve been having the same thought for a while, but.. It was crystal clear on the way to your apartment.” 

 

You take a breath.

 

“I’m never going to find love.” You say, just muttering it out before your eyes fill with tears. As soon as they start streaming down your face, Kanaya pulls you into a tight hug, nearly popping your back. “I-I’m never going to find a nice husband, or have kids..” You sob, your face turning red from your own anguish. In a strange sense, it’s relieving to finally cry it out. You’ve cried plenty in the past six months, but none like this. Not in the tight embrace of your dearest confidant.

 

Kanaya was silent the entire time, refusing to say a single word while you talked. Not that you expected her to speak over you. Kanaya was very passive when she needed to be, simply hugging you tight and not letting you go. No matter how badly you were staining her shirt with your tears, she wouldn’t release you. It was the first time in the past few hours that you actually felt safe; at home.

 

Your hands clutch desperately at the fabric of Kanaya’s blouse, while you quietly mumble horrible insults to yourself, terrible things that you would never say to another person, but somehow believe are applicable to yourself. Of course, a rational human being would say that you aren’t all of those awful things.

 

But you’re not exactly rational right now. You’re in hysterics because you believe that, despite finally believing in yourself, finally feeling comfortable enough to try, you will never find love. You tend to reject the standard mantra about trans people, about how your life is self hatred and tears; but sometimes, occasionally, self loathing, tears, and put-downs flood your mind, and you can’t do anything to hold it back.

 

After what felt like an eternity, your sobbing began to subside, and Kanaya spoke again. “Rose, dearest, I understand.” 

 

“No, you don’t,” you reply, stern, the frustration in your voice cutting through the desperate tears, “You never show up at my doorstep. You never even talk about awful dates, every date you’ve had has been this wonderful thing because you  _ know _ what girls like, I-”

 

“Rose, I haven’t dated a woman in over a year, and before then it was a series of awful dates and a long relationship that culminated in nothing of value.” Kanaya was stern, but her words were like pillows. Everything she said had some strange calming aspect to it. You wipe away your tears. “I haven’t had a good date since Vriska and I got together.”

 

Right. That. You always forget that happened, because of the fallout between Kanaya and Vriska a few months after they broke up. Kanaya had exploded at Vriska due to the fact that, immediately after they broke up, Vriska started to chase after some boy you hardly remember the name of. That was the only time you ever had to care for an inconsolable butch lesbian in your ratty studio apartment. It was the point where you two became the friends you are now, actually.

 

You’re silent, for what feels like hours, but what is more likely to be five minutes. Your brain does this a lot; you close off all emotion for a moment, staying perfectly still, while you try to calculate things. Shine light on your emotions, so to speak. 

 

Then, in a shift in tone so powerful it’d give you whiplash, you start to laugh. Your laugh is muffled by Kanaya’s shirt, but it’s noticeable. You feel Kanaya bury her face in your hair. You feel her smiling. It’s just..

 

“It’s so funny,” you say, pulling back, “I must have forgotten, right? I just find it hard to believe that you’d ever have a bad date. You’re..” You go silent again, for a much shorter time now, trying to form a sentence in a way that means anything at all. “..I’d be lucky to meet someone as nice as you.”

 

“Fat chance,” Kanaya smirked, trailing her sharp black nails along your neck in a way that tickles the tiniest of hairs and makes chills run up your back, “No man could ever match up to me.” 

 

“You’ve got me there,” and you slide down in her lap, looking up at her with a half-hearted, snark-filled smile, “Men are kinda garbage anyway, I doubt I could find someone half as great as you… Hey, let’s just go out with each other.”

 

Instead of Kanaya’s laugh, the kind that’s contagious and makes you love her even more (in a totally platonic way, of course,) Kanaya widens her eyes again. “I, ah..” She cleared her throat into her balled hand. “Quite the leap from hating men to liking girls.” 

 

You furrow your brow. “Kan, I was joking. I was hoping I’d make you laugh. Because. Y’know.” You make a motion, waving your hands over your body in a vague gesture that not even you’re sure means. “I’m straight? I’m a straight girl.”

 

Kanaya seems unconvinced. Well, maybe that’s just you projecting. Is she unconvinced, or is she just waiting for you to continue your thought? Are  _ you _ even convinced?

 

Wait, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

 

You look away. 

 

“..Actually, can I ask you something?” You look grave as death, like you’re at the doctor expecting horrible news. 

 

“Anything.”

 

“Kiss me.”

 

Kanaya reels back, looking horrified- no, not horrified, just astonished at the prospect of kissing you. “Well, don’t look so offended,” you continue, your face red.

 

“No, no, It’s not that, I just..” Kanaya raised a hand up and presses one to your cheek, gently ushering to get up off of her lap. “I’d love to kiss you, I’m just afraid, is all.”

 

You tilt your head. “Afraid of what?”

 

“That if I kiss you, I’ll blow your mind, and you’ll never go back to men.” Kanaya, for once, is trying to lighten the situation. Funny, you always considered yourself to be the one adding levity to your talks, considering you and your brother share genes.

 

You go silent. She stares at you, and you stare back.

You’re terrified for the same reasons as Kanaya, but far more seriously. Your body is trembling, but you don’t want to stop what’s happening now. You don’t dare pull away. 

 

You’re leaning forward, and so is she.

 

You don’t breathe as your lips lock. It’s like a key sliding into its slot; it feels perfect. You don’t know how it could possibly get better than this, until you start leaning back. More specifically, when Kanaya starts pushing you back. Back, back, back, until you’re pressed against the bottom of the couch. Your eyes are shut, but you can feel Kanaya’s face, you can feel her heat coursing through you.

 

Or maybe you’re just way too into this. 

 

One hand is on your chest, the other is on your cheek. Her hand cups your breast, and honestly you don’t mind because you paid about 30-40 dollars a month to get boobs so at least they’re getting some use. 

 

Then her hand slips down. You don’t notice at first, you’re too enraptured by the feeling of her lips against yours, her soft skin grazing against you. You don’t want it to stop, until--

 

Until you do. Your hands go from gently caressing to a hard push on her shoulder. She obliges, thankfully, and pulls away, her hair mussed from how badly you’d been messing with it. That’s another thing to be guilty for.

 

The first thing to be guilty for, of course, was this.

 

“I need to go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my work, be sure to follow my twitter @thekittybozu! I shitpost there, but I'll say when I'm uploading a new chapter from hereon out!

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be one of many chapters of my AU Rosemary fic. It's a bit rough, as I haven't written properly in ages, but I hope you all enjoyed the prelude to all that.


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